


Getting Patched Up

by Accident, detafo



Series: HealingMortalWoundsVerse(DetafoAndAccident) [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Meeting the Parents, Past Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Past Drug Use, Past Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-19 08:40:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29872038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accident/pseuds/Accident, https://archiveofourown.org/users/detafo/pseuds/detafo
Summary: John and Sherlock navigate a new relationship while dealing with what that means to both of them...Mycroft and Greg work on old wounds in order to come together...Molly and Anthea deal with being new mums to a beautiful baby who's father just so happens to be a murdering psychopath...
Relationships: Anthea/Molly Hooper, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: HealingMortalWoundsVerse(DetafoAndAccident) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2166864
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11
Collections: Detafo and Accident's (FuckOffWatson) RP Collabs





	1. Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Here is a new rp written by Detafo and me! We decided to make it into a fic! Enjoy!!! 
> 
> If you have tagging suggestions please let me know!!!!!
> 
> If you haven't read part one of the series go here and read it!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/29192493/chapters/71674683
> 
> General PSA I'm going to be putting on all fics from now on:  
> There are all kinds of fics out there and if this one doesn't suit your tastes I have some advice!  
> Step 1: Don't like what you're reading? Stop reading and find something else!  
> Step 2: Can't find what you want to read? Write it yourself! Only you know exactly the content you want to consume so go ahead and try creating it yourself!
> 
> Thanks for reading this PSA <3

Sherlock really had been trying to treat John like nothing was different but he couldn’t help the urge to wait on him hand and foot. They got home from the resort a week after John had been let out of the hospital so he could have detoxing treatments and the like while the flat was thoroughly searched.  
“Tea, John?” Sherlock asks as they make their way up to the flat.

"I'll make it, Sherlock." John chuckles, putting his bag down. "You've been buzzing about like a bee... sit down and let me, hmm?"

“What? You don’t like the tea I make?” Sherlock pouts, trying to use reverse tactics on John.

"Oh, don't try that again." John rolls his eyes, laughing. "Of course I like your tea. But you aren't my bloody servant. Sit down, for god's sake and *relax*, hmm? We're home. I thought you'd be checking your sock index." He winked, cheekily.

“I’m sure this whole building has been fumigated and every inch cleaned with bleach. All of my dust is gone.” Sherlock laments as he looks at the mantle.

John snorts. "It'll be back. You rarely let Mrs Hudson hoover, let alone dust."

“It’s for science John.” Sherlock drawls and goes to the kitchen, nearly pressed against John’s back as he stands behind him.

John smirks as he waits for the kettle to boil, having already put tea bags in mugs. "Science, eh? Is this also for science, you horny bugger?" He looks over his shoulder and quirks a brow.

“You know I just like being close to you.” Sherlock kisses his quirked brow.

"Mhm." John chuckles and pours the hot water into the mugs. "Get the milk, would you, love?"

Sherlock nods and goes to the fridge. It had been completely cleaned out, scrubbed, and restocked with food. “They took my maggots.” He groans and hands the new jug of milk to John.

"Thank god for that." John rolls his eyes. "You need to get a small fridge, just for your experiments. Lord knows the amount of times I've almost eaten one of them, thinking it was left over take away."

“Everything is properly labeled. It’s not my fault you don’t take the time to read them.” Sherlock pouts, on his way to a sulk. He didn’t like people in their flat disturbing their biome.

"Oh, come here, you great lump. I was only teasing." John offered him the mug of tea and drew him down for a kiss.

Sherlock kisses John back, resting his hands on John’s hips. “How do you know just how to make me feel better?” He mumbles against his lips.

"Just that good, I guess." John draws back and grins. "Come on. I think your chair missed you."

“Mycroft probably had his goons sit in it just to mess up my imprint.” Sherlock follows John over to their chairs.

"Look, your brother is a git, but I doubt he's that cruel." John laughs. "Besides, he's got Lestrade to sit on now."

“Mm you’re right. He’s occupied.” Sherlock hums and sips his tea. “Lestrade will be good for him. Maybe he’ll help him get off so he can get rid of that stick up his arse.”

"*Sherlock*..." John huffed, trying not to laugh. "If I remember correctly, *you* had a stick up your arse until you came to me the ... first time? Second time... hmm..."

Sherlock blushes a bit. “Hardly, John. I was perfectly well balanced and emotionally secure.” He rolls his eyes.

"Oh, well... consider me corrected." John raises his eyebrows, teasingly.

“Indeed.” Sherlock nods, smiling softly.

John rolls his eyes. "Berk."

“Correction, your berk.” Sherlock grins.

"Mmm..." John hummed. "I suppose." He winks.

Sherlock chuckles, relaxing.

John sits back in his chair, humming softly as he drinks his tea. He should have gotten biscuits... oh, well. He looks over the rim of his cup at Sherlock. "What *is* engaging that big brain of yours?"

Sherlock hums and stands, going to the kitchen to get John’s biscuits. “Things.” He says when he sits back down, giving John the package.

"Things?" John accepts the biscuits, laughing. "Stop reading my mind!" He opens them, taking one to dunk in his tea.

“I did not read you mind. As soon as you sat down you looked at your tea and hummed because you had nothing to dip into it.” Sherlock smirks. “And things about their current situation we happen to find ourselves in the middle of.”

John huffed, playfully. "Berk." He said, again. "Want to talk about it?"

Sherlock frowns and looks away to the fireplace. “It’s chilly. Should I start the fire?”

John sighs. "Sherlock." He says, softly. "Talk to me."

Sherlock sighs, looking down at the mug in his hands. “I fear this may be my fault..”

"How is it your fault?" John frowned.

“Mycroft thinks there may be a connection between the spy who tried to kill you in the hospital and my..” Sherlock clears his throat. “My former pimp..”

John frowns. "Your former pimp? Why the hell would some pimp want to kill me? Just to... What? Settle a score?"

“I got boring. I was no longer fun or stimulating to him so he threw me out. But like a toy at a nursery I’ve become interesting again because someone new has come to play with me..” Sherlock feels his stomach roll.

"Oh, Sherlock..." John swallows. "Why didn't you tell me?" He leans forward, putting a hand on Sherlock's knee. "He wants you all to himself?"

“I-I don’t know what he wants. That’s the scary part.” Sherlock whispers. He hates not knowing.

John stands, holding out his hand and pulling Sherlock up into a hug.

Sherlock holds onto John tight. “I’m sorry.”

"You have nothing to be sorry for." John says, firmly. "What this asshole does is *not* your fault., Okay?"  
There's a sudden ring at the bell.

Sherlock nods, trying his best to believe John.  
Mrs. Hudson gets the door. “Boys! You have a client!” She calls and sends the man up.

John smiles gently. "Let's do what we do best, then."  
An older man stumps up the 17 stairs, eyes covered with dark glasses, a scraggly beard over his face, back bent with age. John thought he might be a homeless chap, but was too polite to say anything.  
"Messrs 'Olmes an' Wasson?" The man asked, words mangled. "D'tec'ives?"

Sherlock looks the man over and in an instant his entire face pales. In one swift he pulls John behind him and grabs the poker from the fireplace, pointing it at the man's neck.

John yelps as he is pulled back. "Sherlock! What on Earth...?"  
"Oh, don't worry about darling William, Johnny boy." The rough accent was gone, replaced with an Irish lilt. The man straightened, taking off the glasses and fake beard, smirking cruelly. "We're old friends, aren't we darling?"

“You must know this whole flat is bugged, Jim. You have three maybe four minutes tops before agents are swarming the place. Make it fast will you? You always were.” Sherlock retorts, his hand steady tho he feels like his whole body is trembling.

Jim sniggers. "Oh, Sherlock, naughty boy. Time to put your toys away and come back to daddy." He leered. "You don't want to be punished, do you?" His expression was dark with lust, and a desire to give out said 'punishment'.  
John grit his teeth. "I don't know what you're doing here, Mr Moriarty... But I'll thank you to leave."  
"Ooh! He's feisty... I see why you like him, Sherlock." Jim giggled. "Come along. Daddy's had enough, now. Leave the broken doctor."

“You don’t control me. You have no power over me. Get away from me, get out of my flat stay out of my life.” Sherlock hisses. “John is more whole and man than you could ever dream of being. Minute and a half, Jim. Are you going to stay and get arrested or run and get arrested? Either way it’ll keep you the hell away from me.”

"You think I came here without dismantling your big Brother's precious bugs?" Jim giggled, madly. "Oh, Sherlock, you silly goose." The term was almost... Affectionate. "Now. Do as your *told*." That dark look in his face again.  
John gritted his teeth. "You need to learn when to take 'no' for an answer." He said, holding himself at his full height, which really wasn't that intimidating. "Sherlock told you to leave. So, leave."  
"Oh, I like him." Moriarty did not take his eyes off Sherlock. "Come here, Sherlock. *Now*."

Sherlock’s resolve wavers for a second. He’d be conditioned to obey Moriarty for so long and it was hard to resist. “N-no.”

"Sherlock. You don't have to do what he says." John said, gently, a hand on the man's arm. "He doesn't own you."  
"*Don't be so sure*." Jim sing-songed, his expression hardening into an ugly mask. "Sherlock. Here. NOW." He snapped his fingers, so loudly, John fought to hold back a wince.

Sherlock’s body lurches forward, horrified he immediately takes a step back against John. “P-please.”

Jim bared his teeth, dark eyes flashing with barely held back rage. "*Sherlock. *NOW**!"  
John gripped the taller man's arm comfortingly. "You don't have to bow to his whims, Sherlock." He said, a soft, soothing voice. "He's a bully, used to getting his way. You can break this cycle, love. You're strong. I believe in you."  
"Oh, such sentiment." Jim sneered. "Not that you deserve it. You're a dirty fucking whore. Nothing more than a cum dumpster. Get over here, *now*... And I may not punish you quite so harshly. I might even leave your plaything alive." He pulled a gun from his coat pocket, grinning maniacally.

Sherlock takes a shaky breath, calculating. “Let John leave unharmed and I’ll go with you.”

"Sherlock, no! Don't give in to him!" John said.  
"Good boy," Jim smirked. He twitched the gun, indicating that Sherlock move to him.  
John inhaled shakily, dropping his hands, watching the gun.

“John leaves first. He’ll go downstairs and get out landlady and they'll leave. Once the front door closes then I’ll come to you. Not a moment before then.” Sherlock’s eyes locked on Jim’s. “Then you can have me. Just like before.”

Jim sneered. "He leaves his phone." He growls. "Don't want him calling big brother."  
John swallows and takes his phone from his pocket, placing it on the mantel. He moved slowly toward the door, feeling helpless. He looked at Sherlock. "I love you." He said, softly, before Jim pushed him out, slamming and dead bolting the door.  
John hurries down the stairs, to Flat A. "Mrs Hudson! Mrs Hudson!" He knocks on the door.

“What, dear, what?” Mrs Hudson opens the door.

"We need to go." John said softly, military calm. "Have you got a mobile you can bring?"

Mrs. Hudson frowns and nods. “Yes.” She grabs her purse and her phone.

John bustles her out, looking up the stairs with a pained look. "As soon as we get to the end of the street, can you call Mycroft? I know he's given you his emergency number."

“John, what is going on?” Mrs. Hudson asks as they get out.  
As soon as the door closes there’s a crashing sound from upstairs.

John jumps. "*Christ*!" He muttered. "Just call him. *Please*"  
Jim stood over Sherlock, his chest heaving. "How DARE you refuse me, you filthy whore!" He growls. He grabs Sherlock's hair in a tight grip and pulls him up from the floor. "Get undressed. NOW."

Mrs. Hudson frowns and calls.  
Sherlock tries the scramble away, his nose bleeding and his lip cut.

Jim tightens his grip in Sherlock's hair. "You want another boot to the ribs, slut?!"  
"Mrs Hudson?" Mycroft sounds surprised. The old woman barely tolerated him.

“Sherlock’s in danger. A client went up and a few minutes later John pulled me out of the flat.” Mrs. Hudson relays.  
“F-fuck you.” Sherlock spits on his fine leather shoe.

Jim's face darkened with murderous rage and he slapped Sherlock's face so hard, the sound echoed around the room, then he dragged Sherlock to his room, throwing him on the bed, wrestling his trousers off.  
Mycroft is immediately on high alert. “Give the phone to John.” He waited.  
"Mrs Hudson thought we had a client. It turned out to be Jim Moriarty." John said in a rush. "He's in 221b with Sherlock. I heard crashes and thumps, Mycroft..."  
"But the cameras..."  
"He managed to avoid them, Mycroft. Hurry! I can hear Sherlock screaming!"

“No!” Sherlock shouts, he didn’t want this. He didn’t. He kicks Jim in the chest and scrambles off the bed to the door.

Winded, Jim falls back, but manages to grab Sherlock's ankle. "Get back here, slut." He wheezes.

Sherlock tries to kick Jim off but he feels something sharp slice into his Achilles.

Jim flicks his knife, licking the blade. "You've got one hell of a punishment coming." He growled.  
Mycroft's team screeched around the corner, lights flashing.

“Fuck you.” Sherlock hisses, crawling away.

"No, Sherlock. Fuck *you*." Jim grinned maliciously, wrestling him back to the ground and worming a hand into Sherlock's pants and squeezing him painfully.  
Two large men scrambled out of the car before Anthea and headed toward the door.  
"Anthea..." John was white faced and terrified.

Sherlock cries out, trying to push Jim off of himself. “No no no!”

Jim smirked. "No use, Sherlock. Your arse is mine. Always was, always will be." He undid his own flies as he pulled Sherlock's pants down. He was just about to force himself upon Sherlock, when a shot rings out and he slumps unmoving on top of the detective, dead with a bullet hole to the head.  
"*Sherlock*!" John screamed, tearing away from Anthea's grip and racing up the stairs.

Sherlock pushes James off of him, crawling away as fast as he can. “John!” He cries out. “John!”

John races in and seeing the dead body of James Moriarty, he skidded to a stop in the bedroom doorway. He gingerly stepped over the body, between the two bodyguards and over to Sherlock, hugging him close. "Sherlock! Oh, Sherlock, are you alright?" He worried.

“C-Can’t s-stand-d. H-he-e c-c-cut me-e.” Sherlock stammers, trembling.

John looked down, seeing blood. " Fuck." He swore. "Call an ambulance!" He yelled at the closest body guard. "You get me the towels from the bathroom, and the first aid kit under the kitchen sink. *Now*." He said to the other, and pressed his hand to the wound. "Don't worry, love. I've got you, I've got you..." He murmured gently.

“I-I did-dn’t want it-t, John. I did-dn’t.” Sherlock sways a bit.

John shushed him gently, pressing the proffered towel to his injured ankle. "I know, love. I know." He lay another towel over Sherlock to preserve his modesty.

“I’m-m s-s-sorry, John. I’m so-o-o-o s-sorry.”

John shakes his head. "Not your fault." He said firmly, as paramedics are pointed up the stairs. "Attempted rape victim. Clean laceration of the left Achilles tendon. Severe blood loss, body's going into shock. I'm riding with him." He barks, back into army captain mode. The paramedics don't bother questioning him and get to work, loading Sherlock onto the stretcher. John follows them down the stairs, held back by the first bodyguard. "Let me pass or I will make life very difficult for you." He snapped, angrily. The bodyguard let him through and he raced down the stairs and into the back of the ambulance.

“J-John, d-don’t le-e-eave m-me. I-I’m sorry-y-y.” Sherlock looks heartbroken, feeling like he betrayed John. He was dirty and he was worthless. How dare he even ask John to stay with him let alone beg.

As the paramedics worked on stabilizing his blood pressure, John squeezed Sherlock's hand, lovingly. "I'm not going to leave you, Sherlock..." He said firmly. "And you have nothing to be sorry for... you hear me? *Nothing*. Moriarty was a fucking bastard to hurt you like this... he has a lot to answer for in Hell." He shushed the man and kissed his forehead. "Shh, love... shh... you're all right."

Sherlock presses as close to John as he can. He knew he was hurt, quite badly, but he couldn’t feel anything except for John.

The ambulance drove them to St Thomas' where John had been, and Sherlock was taken into the A&E being assessed for surgery to repair his ankle. John was stopped to fill out the paperwork and he promised Sherlock he would find him.  
Mycroft hurried in a short time later. John glowered at him. After an argument that had them threatened to be ejected, they were told Sherlock had been taken in for emergency surgery and they would be fine to wait in the waiting area, as long as they didn't start to argue again.

Mycroft sits, pale and grinding his teeth.

John clenches and unclenches his hands. "You could have stopped this." He hissed, not really angry at Mycroft, for he had done all he could, but John needed to lash out. He was stressed, worried and scared. "You could have had him brought up on charges, or shot so much fucking earlier..."

“John, there is so much more at play right now than a would be rapist. You can’t even begin to conceive the levels of shit flying right now.” Mycroft scrubs his hands over his face.

John drops his head into his hands. "I know." He whispers. "I'm sorry. But Sherlock is my top priority... I know I haven't known him long, but... Christ, in thirty minutes of Moriarty's company, he ends up injured and backing straight back into the fucker's conditioning." He looks like he wants to cry.

“Did he say anything to you?” Mycroft asks.

"Sherlock? Or Moriarty?" John asked.

“Both.”

"Moriarty didn't deign to even look at me. The only thing he really said to me was ... 'don't worry about William, Johnny Boy, we're old friends.'" John shuddered. "And Sherlock... he just keeps apologising for everything, even though it wasn't any of his fault."

“Was Sherlock stuttering?” Mycroft asks.

John nodded. "Yes... I thought it was shock induced..."

“He used to when he was younger when he was scared. He couldn’t control it. Went to speech therapy and everything.” Mycroft sits back in the hard uncomfortable hospital chair.

John put his face in his hands again. "Oh, Christ." He murmured. "Is that fucker dead? Because if not, I'll kill him myself."

“He is most definitely dead. I made sure personally.” Mycroft nods.

"*How* are you not raging right now?! That man tried to rape your brother!" John growled. "And has set him back however many years in therapy."

“John, I beat the face of his corpse until it was unrecognizable. Anthea gave me a sedative just to get me in the car to come here.” Mycroft says calmly, his medicated slightly unfocused gaze turning to John.

John swallows hard and nods, running his hand through his hair. "Sorry, Sorry..." He muttered. "Just worried about him."

“You have every right to be angry with me. I failed.” Mycroft frowns.

John sighs loudly. "No. Don't do that, Mycroft. You did all you could within your power. The bastard just hijacked and broke your bugs and cameras." He slumps against the uncomfortable seat, twiddling his thumbs.

“I always fail him, Dr. Watson. Especially when he needs me most.” Mycroft looks down at his hands. “Moriarty’s reach spans further than I realized. I underestimated. It was my error.”

John hums. "He was definitely a piece of work." He muttered. "What about that woman? The one that tried to kill me?"

“She’s recovering uncomfortably after Sherlock nearly strangled her to death.” Mycroft says. “Ah, judging by the look on your face you didn’t know Sherlock almost killed her.”

John clenched his jaw. "He didn't tell me that, no." He murmurs softly. He shakes his head. "What're you going to do about her, now her co-conspirator is dead?"

“Sherlock suggested I keep her in a dark box, depriving her of sustenance and air until she’s on the verge of death.” Mycroft hums.

John clenches his jaw. "Despite her wanting to kill me, she is a human being, Mycroft." He said. "That sounds like a very inhumane punishment."

“No human rights are being violated. Just don’t tell Sherlock.” Mycroft sighs.

John sighs as the surgeon comes out of the surgery. "Doctor Watson?"  
"Yes?" John jumps up. "Is he all right?"  
"He's fine." The man says. "He's being taken to recovery to have a blood transfusion. They're just setting his leg now."  
"Oh, thank Christ..." John seems to melt with relief. "Can I see him?"  
"Let them set the leg, and someone will take you back to see him very shortly." The surgeon nodded.

“Well then things seem to be in hand. I have business to take care of.” Mycroft stands, leaning heavily on his umbrella, his knuckles molted purple.

The surgeon looks at Mycroft and back to John, raising an eyebrow. John shakes his head, dismissively. "Mycroft, wait. Let me look at your hand, at least." He says. "You're here at the hospital. You might as well have it checked. You could have broken your knuckles."

“Thank you, Dr. Watson, but no. I know how to throw a punch without injuring myself.” Mycroft slides one of his hands into his pocket.

John gives him a look that doesn't brook any arguments. "For God's sake, Mycroft."

Mycroft sighs and takes his hand out, holding it out to John. It was bruised and swollen. Nothing broken but his wrist was most likely sprained.

John felt the joints professionally, and shook his head. "I can't really do much here, because I'm technically not a practicing doctor. But when you get home, or to your office... have Anthea bandage your wrist and put some ice on it." He ordered softly.

Mycroft nods. “She’ll yell at me as well.”

"I don't doubt it." John snorted. "Go on. I'll keep you updated."

“Thank you, John.” Mycroft nods and goes.

John follows a waiting medical assistant to Sherlock's bedside. He takes the man's free hand in his, linking their fingers together.

Sherlock was still out from the anesthesia.

"He'll likely be out for a while. They're giving him a single transfusion. It'll take about two or three hours." The assistant says, quietly. "Can I get you anything?"  
John shook his head no and just watched Sherlock breathe, while rubbing little circles into the back of his hand with the pad of his thumb.

About an hour or so later Sherlock starts coming around.

John feels a slight movement and looks up. "Hey," he smiles softly, kindly. "How do you feel, love?"

“Mm Jawnnn.” Sherlock smiles softly.

"I'm here, sweetheart." John smiles.

“You’re here.” Sherlock giggles.

"You're high as a kite." John, smirked. "Morphine from surgery, it'll wear off soon." He kisses the man's forehead. "Of course I'm here, where else would I be?"

“Gone gone far awayyyy.” Sherlock pouts.

"I'm not going anywhere, you daft Berk." He says, affectionately.

“Stay. Always. Oh! Marry me. Husbands stay.” Sherlock nods.

John smiles softly. "Ask me again when you're feeling better, love." He murmured. "As it is, I'm not leaving until you kick me out."

“Stay with me. Always. You’re so nice and handsome and you make such good tea, John.” Sherlock smiles at him, so in love.

John laughs quietly. "Crawler." He murmured fondly, brushing curls off his forehead. "I'm afraid there won't be any running around London for quite a while."

“Don’t care. I have you now. Don’t need to go anywhere.” Sherlock nuzzles into his hand.

John laughs. "Tell me that when you're ready to shoot the wall out of boredom."

“You’ll just have to entertain me.” Sherlock smirks a bit lopsided.

John smiles. "I'll do my best."  
About an hour and a half later, the transfusion was finished, the doctor removed the cannula and gave a script for mild pain meds. John carefully steers the wheelchair to the taxi rank and helps Sherlock into one.

Sherlock was sore and his pride had taken a beating. He sighs as a big dark SUV pulls up.

John looks at the SUV, and then slides into the cab beside Sherlock.

Sherlock leans against John, the SUV following them home.

The taxi stops in front of the flat and John pays the driver, before getting out and helping Sherlock out, before giving him his crutches.

Sherlock sighs, it takes him forever to get up the stairs, panting as he finally gets on the couch.

John puts the union jack cushion under his leg. "Anthea is here." He murmured. "I'll make tea."

“Oh joy.” Sherlock sits on the couch, keeping his leg from pressing on his sutures.

John smiles and heads to the kitchen as Anthea tapped on the door politely. "How are you feeling, Sherlock?" She asked politely.

“Sore since I'm not allowed the good drugs out of a hospital setting.” Sherlock sighs.

Anthea chuckles softly. "Well, you did agree to Mycroft's terms." She murmured. "I came to make sure everything was cleaned up." She glanced at John, coming in with the tea tray. "Thank you, John."  
"Mmm... everything's spick and span." John said, quietly. "Mrs H was a love and changed the bedsheets, too."

“What are you really here for, Anthea? This well wishing is unbecoming of you.” Sherlock hums.

Anthea smiles. "Good to see you still have your facilities." She murmurs. "I came to let you know that James Isaac Moriarty is dead and gone. You don't ever have to worry about him bothering you ever again." She bit her lip. "Mycroft would have come, but he's... berating himself over the whole thing."

“Tell him to stop self flagellating and go home to Greg. Drag him if you must.” Sherlock frowns.

Anthea smiles. "I called the Detective Inspector. I've given him security clearance to fetch Mycroft while I'm here." She sighs. "Lady Smallwood was most insistent." She bit her lip. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay... for my own sanity... I know he was a horrible excuse for a human being."

“Whatever his intentions were they were unsuccessful.” Sherlock assures her.

Anthea grimaces. "Okay." Standing, she smiled at John. "I won't stay for tea, thanks, John. I have some work left to do. I'll leave you to it." She bade farewell and left, quietly.  
John sat next to Sherlock, handing him a teacup. "You sure you're okay, love?"

“I still have you, neither of us are dead or in a coma, I think this was a successful day.” Sherlock takes the cup.

"Sherlock." John's worried. Sherlock seems very aloof about the whole day.

“Come sit with me, John.” Sherlock pats the couch next to him.

John sits, holding his mug carefully. "Tell me honestly." He murmurs, brushing a hand through SHerlock's hair, gently. "How are you feeling?"

“Fragile and grateful.” Sherlock says softly, relaxing into John’s hand.

John smiles softly. "Do you remember what you asked me when you first woke up?"

Sherlock frowns, thinking. “Where am I?” He hazards.

John laughs quietly. "No," He murmurs. "You asked me to marry you."

“Really?” Sherlock looks surprised. “I can’t believe I said it out loud. What did you say?”

John smiled. "I told you to ask me again when you were thinking straight." He murmured. "I didn't want you asking me by mistake."

“John, I wouldn’t have asked you to move in with me if I ever thought I’d ever want you to move out.” Sherlock scoffs. “Of course I want to marry you. It’s been invading all of my thoughts for well.. Quite sometime now.”

John laughed quietly. "You've known me for three months. Been sleeping with me for two." He chides, smiling.

“And I knew in the first week of knowing you that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. It’s irrelevant.” Sherlock hums.

John chuckles. "Can I kiss you?" He murmurs, not wanting to scare him after the morning's terror.

Sherlock hesitates. “Whores don’t get kissed. You don’t know where their mouths have been.” He parrots.

John takes Sherlock's chin and gently turns his face toward his. "Sherlock." He said, quietly. "You are not a whore. You are not a slut. You aren't any of those horrible names that *he* called you. Do you understand?"

“I-I know.” Sherlock says but it doesn’t sound like any beliefs behind it.

John looked sad. "I don't want you referring to yourself like that, okay?"

Sherlock nods. “I-I don’t like-e making you s-s-s-s-“ he struggles to get it out, embarrassed and frustrated.

John calmly took his hand. "Breathe, sweetheart." He murmured. "In for four, hold for five, out for six." He coaches him through the breathing exercise until he calms down.

Sherlock follows his instructions, clenching his hands so they don’t shake.

John takes his hands in his. "Now, what did you want to say, love?"

“I.. don’t.. like.. making.. you.. sad..” Sherlock says slowly and carefully.

"Then... please don't refer to yourself as any of those horrible names." John murmured. "You're beautiful, and worthy of love."

“John..”

"Yes, love?"

“I love you.”

"I love you, too." He says, softly, smiling.

“Thank you for leaving earlier. If you were here there were too many variables. I couldn’t make sure you were safe. I know it was very hard for you to leave me there..”

John hesitates. "I didn't want to leave." He whispers. "I wanted to go to my room, grab my old service weapon and shoot him myself."

“I know. You showed a lot of restraint and that’s what I’m grateful for.”

John squeezes his hand. "I heard you screaming. I was so worried."

“Nothing happened. He just held a gun to my head and stripped me and touched me and tried to fuck me and cut me so bad I won’t be able to walk properly for months.” Sherlock’s pants a bit.

John feels his heart clench. "Oh, Sherlock... I'm so sorry..."

“Don’t be.”

John runs his fingers gently through Sherlock's hair. "Is this all right?" He asks, wanting to calm him down.

Sherlock nods a bit. “Just don’t pull.. he dragged me around by my hair..” he says softly.

John nods, just running his fingers gently through the soft curls.

“I used to have short hair..” Sherlock’s eyes slip closed. “So no one could grab it..”

"I can't imagine you with short hair... Your curls are so luscious." John smiles.

“I’m sure Mycroft has pictures somewhere. I used to pull it out when I was high so whenever Mycroft found me he’d clean me up and shave my head.” Sherlock frowns a bit.

John blinks. "Drug induced Trichotillomania?" He asks. He supposed it wasn't unheard of. "I'm glad you don't do that anymore."

Sherlock nods. “I also had some delusions and psychosis.”

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." John says, gently.

“You deserve to know. You deserve to know about me. You didn’t and it nearly got you killed this morning.”

John put an arm around him. "I knew you'd had an abusive pimp, who treated you like filth and sold you to clients. I know that you are a strong person to have gotten away from him. I know you were conditioned, but you showed that you were growing away from that. I'm proud to call you friend, lover and my fiance." He whispers the last part gently. "And I know that bastard can never hurt you, ever again."

“So that’s a yes?” Sherlock asks softly.

John chuckles and rests his head on Sherlock's shoulder. "It's a yes for as long as you'll have me, Sherlock Holmes."

“Forever.” Sherlock holds him close.

John smiles, pressing a kiss into Sherlock's neck.

“Mm..” Sherlock hums.

"Alright?" He murmurs softly, relaxing against him.

Sherlock nods. “Just keep the touching and kissing above the waist for now..” He mumbles.

"Sure, love." John nodded, pressing another gentle kiss to his throat.

Sherlock relaxes slowly, holding John close.

"Do you want to go lie down, love? Or do you want to stay on the couch?"

“Mm here.” Sherlock says softly, he wasn’t ready to go to the bed even though it was changed.

"Okay." John nods.

Sherlock nuzzles John’s hair, breathing him in.

After a while, John shifted slightly. "Do you want dinner, or just some tea and toast?"

“Thai?” Sherlock asks softly.

"Sure." John got up to find the relevant menu. "Usual, or something new?"

“Usual.” Sherlock nods, needing the comfort of familiarity.

John nodded, ringing and putting in their usual delivery order. He sat back on the couch. "Tele?"

Sherlock hums and nods, scooting down and resting his head in John’s lap.

John smiles, turning the tele onto a rerun of classic Doctor Who. He ran his fingers through Sherlock's curls.

Sherlock lets out a deep sigh, closing his eyes.

When their dinner arrives, he gently shifts Sherlock to go and answer the door. Bringing up their dinner, he puts the bag on the coffee table, before going to get plates. "Budge up, love."

Sherlock sits up, the boot on his leg bulky and irritating.

"Once the tendons start to heal, and you can put weight on it, you can get a moon boot for walking." John murmurs. "I know you hate the crutches with a passion."

“Stupid.” Sherlock grumbles, looking down at his leg.

"I know, love." He murmurs. "I'll go out and buy some trash bags tomorrow, so you can have a bath without getting the plaster wet."

“Thank you, John..”

"Hey," John smiled, handing him his plate. "Talk to me? Tell me what's going on in that big old brain of yours."

Sherlock pokes at his food. “I want to scrub all the places he was with bleach and boil myself in scalding water everywhere he touched.”

John's smile faltered. "You know I would rip up the floorboards if I could." He said, softly. "I'd get a new bed, new linens... Scrubs him from the cracks in this flat, if I could. As it is, I'd offer my bed, but I don't want you going up any more stairs than you absolutely have to." He felt a lump in his throat, but swallowed past it, wanting to be strong for the taller man.

“John, you’re a wonder.” Sherlock pulls him in and kisses him before pulling out his phone and texting.

John raises his eyebrows. "Oh?"

“Mmhmm.” Sherlock sends off a few texts.

"Who are you texting?"

“Giving Mycroft something to do so he can relax and feel some semblance of control.”

John clucked his tongue. "He already feels awful." He murmured.

“Because he feels out of control and that he failed me. He didn’t and I’m giving him an opportunity to rectify that with himself. I’m letting him arrange for a new bedroom set to be delivered tonight. A larger bed to fit the both of us as well as my cast.” He knocks on his leg.

John chuckles softly. "I can't fault that kind of reasoning."

Sherlock's phone buzzed with an incoming message. *Agreed. It won't be tonight, unfortunately. Even I have my limits. Will tomorrow suffice? - MH*

*Fine. Get a headboard I can attach cuffs to for sexual activity.-SH*  
He snorts, imagining the face Mycroft would make. Subtly telling him he’d be okay.

Across town, Mycroft did make a face, but didn't bother to respond. He read between the lines although he still felt awful about the entire episode. At least Moriarty was dead and had been cremated without fanfare.  
John read the message over Sherlock's shoulder and rolled his eyes. "Prat." He murmured.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure your shoulder doesn’t get stiff.” Sherlock smirks teasingly before starting to eat.

John rolled his eyes, smirking. "Oh, so I don't get to reciprocate?" He murmurs, softly, not wanting to scare him.

“Of course but I like ropes more than cuffs.” Sherlock hums.

"I'll do you one better and get silk." John murmurs with a grin.

“Oh god.” Sherlock blushes.

John chuckles. "Like that idea, hmm?"

Sherlock blushes and nods.

"Well, that's certainly something to look forward to." John chuckles, eating his Panang curry.

“What do you like?” Sherlock asks, eating a fork full of rice.

"Hmmm? You mean in the bedroom?"

Sherlock nods.

John shrugs. "I guess you could say I'm a switch. I like being topped and topping..." He hummed in thought. "Never really thought about it... Mostly trial and error." He chuckles softly.

Sherlock hums and nods. “You like sex. You’re good at it.”

John chuckled, blushing. "Thank you." He murmured. "What about you, then? I feel like this is a conversation we should have had months ago, but.... better late than never."

“I like how you touch me. Gentle and commanding. Like feeling you close.” Sherlock blushes.

John chuckles softly. "Mmm... I don't want to hurt you. I'll only ever... command.... if you're okay with it. You're free to tell me 'no'. You know that, right?"

“I know.” Sherlock nods. “I never have to lie when I’m with you. You won’t hurt me if I deny you.”

"Of course not!" John felt sick. "I'm not like... like *him*, Sherlock."

“I know that!” Sherlock rolls his eyes.

John lets out a breath. "Sorry, sorry." He murmurs. "It's just that... hell, if he wasn't dead, I'd fucking kill him."

“He’s dead. I saw his brain matter leaking out of his ears. I’m sure he’s burned and scattered by now.” Sherlock pokes at his plate.

John nodded. "I'm not one to believe in heaven or hell, but I hope he's being tortured by the devil himself."

“Mm.” Sherlock nods.

John sighs, finishing his curry. "Did you want to sleep in the bedroom tonight, or do you want to sleep out here, or hazard the stairs to my old room?"

“I’ll make it upstairs.” Sherlock hums.

John smiles. "On one condition ... it's not pretty, and can be embarrassing... but I want you to slide up the stairs backwards on your bottom. I'll follow with the crutches. At least I know you won't fall backwards and break your neck."

“Oh god.” Sherlock makes a face

John chuckled. "Please? For my peace of mind?"

“Fine. Just for you.” Sherlock agrees.

"Thank you." John says, softly.

Sherlock kisses his cheek.

John smiles softly. "Are you finished eating?" He asks.

“Yeah.” Sherlock nods, the anesthesia working out of his system making him feel a bit nauseous.

John feels his forehead. "Do you want something to settle your stomach, as well as your pain killers?"

“Some ginger tea maybe.” Sherlock says.

"All right. I'll help you upstairs, then I'll get it for you."

Sherlock nods and sighs, with John’s help he slowly makes it upstairs.

John puts him to bed, tucking him in. "Be back in a moment." He murmurs, before going down to the kitchen to brew a ginger tea, and gather the pain killers.

Sherlock gets comfortable. He liked John’s bed, it smelled like John.

John returns, holding two bottles of water under his arm, and a mug of ginger tea and painkillers in his hands.

“Thank you.” Sherlock smiles, all snug as a big in John’s covers.

John chuckles. "Looks like you've made yourself at home." He says, grinning. "Comfortable?"

“Very. Smells like you.” Sherlock wiggles happily.

John chuckles. "Funny, that." He teases. "Here. Pills." He handed them to him. "And ginger tea."

Sherlock takes the pill and sips the tea.

"Good boy." He teases, placing a bottle of water on Sherlock's nightstand.

Sherlock blushes and smiles softly.

John climbs into bed on the other side.

Sherlock puts his tea down and cuddles into John.

"Big old teddy bear, you are." John murmurs, putting an arm around him.

“You like it.” Sherlock mumbles, nuzzling his face into John’s neck.

"I do." John agrees. "Sleep, love... I'm right here." He kissed the man's hair.

Sherlock falls asleep against John.


	2. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock takes back his sex life...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

A few weeks later, John had taken Sherlock to get a walking cast. "Bet that feels better." He chuckles.

“At least I can get rid of the blasted crutches.” Sherlock knocks on the boot.

John sniggers. "As if I haven't heard enough about your disdain for them." He says, affectionately.

“Can I set them on fire? Or acid perhaps?” Sherlock grins, waddling around on his new boot.

"*Sherlock*!" John's laughing. "We're giving them back to the hospital *unscathed*."

Sherlock sighs put upon. “Fineeeeeee.”

John rolls his eyes. "Yes, yes, I'm the bad guy." He chides, with a grin. "Now. What do you want to do with your new found semi freedom?"

“The Yard. Lestrade must be drowning in unsolved cases by now.” Sherlock nods and waddles out to a cab.

"All right, puddle duck." John chuckles, sliding in beside him. "NSY, please." The drive was quick, and John paid, before helping Sherlock stand.

Sherlock sweeps into the building and into the elevator with all the dramatic flair of someone who wasn’t carting around a boot attached to them. He pressed the button when John got in and they’re taken to Lestrade’s floor.

"Allo lads." Greg said, looking up from his paperwork as they walked in. "Been a while. How's the leg, Sherlock?"

“Fine fine. No more crutches.” Sherlock grins almost manically.

"I can see that." Greg laughed. "Still, no barreling about London just yet. I'll throw you in the hole, if I find out you have."  
"Don't worry, Greg. He'll have to bounce off the walls of Baker Street, and play Cluedo with me." John chuckles.

“I’m glad you two have decided for me since I’m so incapable.” Sherlock rolls his eyes.

John snorts softly. "Just having a laugh, love." He says, kindly.  
"S'pose you'll be wanting some cold cases." Greg laments. "I've got two. Dimmock has dug up a couple."

“Gimmie.” Sherlock holds his hand out, nearly bouncing.

"Manners, Sherlock." John rolls his eyes.

“Gimmie, pleaseeeeeee.” Sherlock asks sweetly.

Greg snorts. "I'd believe that if it wasn't sarcastic." He said, pulling up a file box off the floor. "Here you are. Have fun."  
John picked up the box and grinned. "Thanks Greg. Text me soon. We'll go for a pint."  
"Sure." Greg nods, grinning.

Sherlock flounces off towards the lifts.

"All right, what's up?" John asks, hefting the box as they got in the lift.

“Mm?” Sherlock asks.

"You're in a strop." John says, stepping out as the lift doors opened. "Or at least it's a good show of it."

“Lestrade is hiding a good case.” Sherlock pouts.

"How do you know?"

“He must have been tipped off we were coming. His whiteboard was turned around, his desk was swiped clear, and he was panting a bit.” Sherlock hums.

John rolls his eyes. "I think you're getting paranoid." He said, chuckling. "Perhaps he doesn't want you injuring yourself."

“Perhaps Mycroft is using his hold over Lestrade to keep me out.” Sherlock grumbles.

John shakes his head. "Come on. You can deduce it all at home."

Sherlock follows him out and into a cab.

Helping Sherlock up the stairs when they got home, John set the box down on the desk and set about making tea.

Sherlock goes through the box. “Garbage.” He grumbles.

"What's that, love?"

“Stupid. They’re all stupid.” Sherlock flips into his chair.

"Oh?" John put a cup of tea in front of him. "Barely a four, hmm?"

Sherlock groans and nods.

"Ah well. Solve the cases and tell Greg to get something more challenging next time." John smiles into his tea.

“I suppose.” Sherlock sits back up. He makes notes on sticky notes and puts them on various pages in the files.

John settles down with a book, letting him do his thing.

Sherlock mumbles about the idiocy of the Yard.

John smirks. "You have said that a few times." He murmured. "Did you want to do something else? You're getting tetchy."

Sherlock gets up and goes to John, putting his head in John’s lap.

John pets his hair, softly. "What do you want to do then?"

“Dunno..” Sherlock mumbles.

John chuckles. "That's new. You always know what you want to do."

“Bored.” Sherlock sighs.

"Cards? Cluedo? Monopoly?"

Sherlock sighs. “What time is it?”

"Just past two o'clock, why?"

“Let’s go out.” Sherlock gets up.

"What? Where?" John looked surprised. "We only got home an hour ago." But he gets up, putting the book aside and wipes his hands on his trousers legs.

“Museum.” Sherlock hums. “Or the park. Something.”

John blinks. "You really are bored." He chuckles softly. "All right. Regent's Park? Could go and walk around Primrose Hill."

“Good.” Sherlock gets up and puts on his coat.

On their way, John watched Sherlock stump along. “Are you really okay?” He asks, finally. “You seem... a bit more pent up than usual...”

Sherlock blushes and looks away from John, mumbling something.

“What’s that?” John asks, curiously.

“We haven’t had sex in six and a half weeks.” Sherlock blushes brighter, still looking away.

John regards Sherlock quietly for a moment. "Ah."

Sherlock nods, still looking anywhere but at John. “I.. I want to. I really really do, John. I want to feel you and touch you and taste you so badly. I just..” He swallows. “I don’t know how to go about it.”

John smiles softly. "Want to go home? I'll let you take the lead...?"

Sherlock blushes and nods. “Please.” He says softly.

John took his hand and squeezed it. "Come on, love..."

Sherlock follows John home, nervous and excited at the same time. “Thank you for being so patient with me.” He says softly.

"Sweetheart, you needed to recover." John murmurs.

Sherlock just shrugs.

John sighs. "I don't want to push you, love. That's why I've not said anything."

“I know but I want it. I like sex with you. I love it.” Sherlock blushes brightly.

John chuckles as he unlocked the front door. "That's quite the compliment."

“You make sex good. Enjoyable. I love watching you orgasm. I love it more when I’m the thing that made you cum.” Sherlock smiles.

John flushes. "Trust me, I love it, too." He smiles.

Sherlock grins. “I want to make you cum, John.” He follows John inside.

John chuckles. "Well, at least let us get upstairs. Don't want to give Mrs Hudson a heart attack."

“She used to be an exotic dancer, John. I’m sure she wouldn’t see anything new or what she hasn’t participated in before.” Sherlock snorts and clunks his way up the stairs.

John huffs. "There's a step up from exotic dancing and opening the door to seeing your tenants *in flagrante* on the entryway stairs." He says, shaking his head. "Besides. Bed is more comfortable."

“I bought her a noise machine and she has a well stocked stash of *herbal soothers*.” Sherlock smirks.

John laughs quietly. "I swear she must get the best weed in the entire city. Can always tell when she's been fighting with her sister." He rolls his eyes and opens the flat door. He stood aside to let Sherlock in. "She gets all giggly."

“One time I took her to a midnight laser show in the park. She just laid in the grass and laughed.” Sherlock chuckled. “After we got chips and she made me give the man a hundred pound tip for the best chips she’s ever had.”

"Hydroponic." John sniggers. "Does wonders."

“*It’s for my hip, Dear*.” Sherlock imitates Mrs. Hudson.

John giggles. "Stop." He breathes.

Sherlock chuckles and smiles at John.

John takes his hand. "Now... Take me to bed?" He asks.

Sherlock smiles softly and leads John to their room. He closes the door and pulls John close, leaning in to kiss him gently.

John presses his lips against the taller man's. "Take your time, love."

“I want to strip you and touch you.” Sherlock nuzzles him before pulling John’s jumper off.

John groans, low in his throat, helping where he could.

Once John is naked Sherlock circles him.

John watches him circle. Desire flooded his gut.

“You get hard from me just looking at you.” Sherlock’s grin is evident in his voice.

John smirks. "Hard not to, under your intense scrutiny." He murmured.

Sherlock stands in front of John, running his hand over his chest.

John's eyes flutter closed and he hums, appreciatively.

Sherlock wraps his hand around John’s cock teasingly.

"Sher-!" John gasped. "Jesus.,"

Sherlock strokes him slowly.

John bites his lip against a whimper. His eyes still closed, he rocked his hips with Sherlock's strokes.

Sherlock wraps his free arm around John and holds him close as he strokes him.

"God, Sherlock..." John hums. "Your hands... Beautiful..." He lets out a breath. "Yes, like that..."

Sherlock kisses him deeply.

John moans softly into the kiss, nibbling Sherlock's lower lip, but otherwise letting the other man lead.

“Lay down on the bed.” Sherlock let’s him go.

John nods, sitting on the mattress and getting comfortable against the pillows

Sherlock strips slowly.

John rakes his eyes hungrily over each exposed inch of ivory skin. He licks his lips.

Sherlock runs his hands over his body, knowing John likes it when he touches himself.

John curls his fists into the duvet, watching Sherlock lustily. His toes curl as he tries to not touch himself.

Sherlock slowly crawls up the bed to John, kneeling between his legs.

John whimpers again, watching him. "Sherlock..." He murmured, looking up at him.

“Yes, John?” Sherlock rubs his thighs.

"God, you're beautiful..." He murmured.

Sherlock blushes and smiles. “I want to make you cum.”

"Not gonna be difficult with the way you're looking at me, love..." John chuckles softly.

Sherlock chuckles and gets lube from the drawer, pouring some into his hand.

John watches, licking his lips again.

Sherlock wraps his hand around his and John’s cock.

John presses back against the pillows, moaning. "Christ, Sherlock..." He whined, pumping his hips.

“Like this?” Sherlock smirks, groaning as he strokes them.

"Yes, oh, God, yes..." John was groaning with want. "Christ, your hands..." He mumbles.

Sherlock strokes them faster, pressing close to John and kisses him deeply.

John whines into his mouth, returning the kiss ardently, before opening his eyes and looking at him. "Fuck..." He breathes.

“You’re so hard for me, John. Come for me. I want to see you cum.”

John groans, feeling the crackles of electricity run down his spine as his balls drew up close to his body. "Christ, Sher- *Sherlock*!" He cries out, eyes slamming closed as his orgasm hits him hard, come stripping his belly and abdomen as he shudders through aftershocks.

Sherlock groans as he watches, stroking them together. Soon it was too much and he was coming with John.

John slumps against the pillows, panting hard. "Jesus Christ..." He breathes, looking up at his lover. "You're fantastic..."

Sherlock blushes and kisses him.

John chuckles, returning the kiss.

Sherlock slowly gets up and cleans them off.

"Come back to bed, love." John murmurs, stilling Sherlock's hands. "We're clean, hmm?"

Sherlock nods and lays back down with John.

John wraps an arm around his waist and looks at him. "Feel better?" He murmurs.

“Much.” Sherlock finally relaxes.

John chuckles. "M'glad." He says, softly. "You're so beautiful..." He brushes an errant curl off Sherlock's forehead.

Sherlock blushes. “I love you.”

"I love you, too." John smiles gently.

Sherlock cuddles into him and relaxes. “We’re never going weeks without sex again. That was ridiculous.”

John laughs quietly. "Yes, sir." He quips, pressing a kiss to his face. "Whatever you want."

Sherlock hums happily, basking.

"Any happier, and you'd be purring." John grins.

“*Purrrrrrrrr*.” Sherlock answers.

John can't help it. He begins to giggle. "Berk." He manages, affectionately.

Sherlock smiles happily, looking up at John.

John strokes fingers up and down his arm.

Sherlock’s eyes slip closed, at peace.

"Sleep, love." John murmurs. "Sleep."

Sherlock hums softly, falling asleep against John.

John stays awake for a while, marvelling in how the hell he'd gotten so lucky as to have met Sherlock Holmes. How they'd practically saved each other from fates, some would argue, worse than death, and death itself.  
He falls asleep, holding Sherlock protectively against his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment and let us know what you think!


	3. France

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg suggests he and Mycroft take a trip...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting into a deeper Mystrade plot line here! the next few chapters will center around them but don't worry! There is more Johnlock to come!
> 
> Also I'm sorry if you speak French and this google translate used in these next few chapters is awful!!!

“We should go away for a weekend.” Greg suggests to Mycroft. He knew how hard Mycroft’s been working for weeks now.

Mycroft looks up, not at all surprised to see Greg in his office. Anthea could be a sneaky little mouse when she wanted to be. Probably hiding behind the door, eavesdropping.  
"While I think that's a lovely idea," he says after a moment of contemplation. "Where would you suggest? I don't have the skin tone for the seaside." He smirks.

“Anywhere you’d like.” Greg smiles and sits down. “I just want to spend time with you together.”

Mycroft blushes a soft pink. Though it's been weeks now, he was still getting used to Greg actually wanting his company. The evil little voice in the back of his head had thankfully shut up, but he was still in awe.  
"Erm... I... I don't know. England? Abroad?"

“France?” Greg suggests.

Mycroft nods. “All right.” He murmurs. “That sounds wonderful. I'll... Make arrangements." He smiles softly, a rare smile that reached his eyes, only for Greg.

Greg grins. “Perfect.”

By the end of his work day, Anthea had booked them for a weekend stay at the Secret de Paris, had cleared a weekend for Mycroft and had reserved a table at a Michelin restaurant. He knew she'd been listening.

Greg had received an itinerary of the weekend and what to pack for the trip. He was surprised when a garment bag appeared in his closet with a brand new suit inside, perfect to his measurements.

Mycroft made sure to put a little thank you bonus in Anthea's bank account. She was a good sort, and loyal, even if she did eavesdrop.  
He packed two of his suits, but also some casual slacks and jeans, with shirts.

Friday night Greg walked out of his flat and to the waiting SUV, handing over his bag to the waiting driver before getting in. “Hello, love.” He smiles at Mycroft as he slides into the seat next to him.

Mycroft smiles. "Good evening, Gregory." He murmured, softly, taking the man's hand and squeezing gently.

Greg smiles, running his thumb over Mycroft’s knuckles. “Excited?”

Mycroft chuckles. "I'm excited to be anywhere with you, Gregory." He says with a soft smile. He raises Greg's hand and kisses the back of it.

Greg blushes a bit and smiles lovingly at him. “Ditto, love.”

Mycroft scoots a little closer to Greg, feeling quite bold, and kisses him gently.

Greg kisses him back, gently cupping Mycroft’s face with his free hand.

Mycroft moans softly. "I love you."

“I love you too.” Greg kisses his cheek.

Mycroft blushes lightly. "It's only an hour and a half flight..." He murmurs, unsure of what to say. "And... There'll be a car waiting for us."

“Okay.” Greg smiles softly. “Is there anything you’d like to do when we get there tonight?”

Mycroft nods. "I... Iwouldliketohavesexwithyou..." He says nervously, in a rush.

Greg blinks a little surprised before nodding. “I’d like that too, My.” He smiles softly.

Mycroft is looking at his fingers, blushing. Christ, how can he have the nickname Iceman, and be so terrible with emotion around Greg.

“We’ll go slow. Take our time. There’s no rush.” Greg says softly, knowing it’s hard for Mycroft to be open about what he wants.

Mycroft nods. "Okay." He murmurs. "Thank you, Gregory." He adds in a whisper.

“My pleasure, love.” Greg nods. “We’ll have a little chat about what we want and expectations beforehand, that way we both know what’s what beforehand.” He says softly, knowing Mycroft does better when he has as much information as possible.

The SUV slowed to a stop outside the departure terminal and the driver quickly retrieved their suitcases and garment bags. Mycroft let's Greg out first and exits the vehicle. He thanked the driver and held the handle of his case, looking at Greg, smiling softly. "After you." He murmured.

Greg nods and leads their way into the terminal, to the gate in their tickets.

As they checked in, Mycroft watched Greg with a feeling of... What was it? He couldn't place the word. Putting their suitcases on the conveyor belt, he slipped his hand in Greg's. "We're in first class." He murmured softly.

“Ohhh fancy. I’ve never been in first class before. You’ll have to teach me how to act.” Greg smiles softly, gently squeezing Mycroft’s hand.

Mycroft chuckles softly. "It's just more roomy than business." He said with a smile. "With a glass of champagne." He added.

“Now that’s flying with style.” Greg chuckles.

Mycroft smirks. "You are impressed." He chuckles. "I love it when you smile."

Greg blushes and smiles. “Your fault. You make me smile like this.”

"Perhaps you should have me arrested, Detective Inspector..." Mycroft murmurs coyly.

“Too bad I don’t have my handcuffs on me.” Greg teases back.

Mycroft chuckles. "Pity." He murmured. "Something to remedy for next time."

“Definitely.” Greg chuckles.

The boarding call for their flight came over the PA, and Mycroft, his blood practically singing, took Greg's hand in his and walked them toward their gate.

Greg follows happily, a big dopey grin on his faces as he watches their joined hands.

As they are pointed to their seats, Mycroft settles into the plush chair. He smiles at Greg, blue eyes shining.

Greg smiles back. “When you look at me like that it makes me want to kiss your entire face.” He says softly.

Mycroft blushes. "Are you going to act on your impulses?" He asked, smiling.

“Can I?” Greg smiles.

Mycroft nods. "Yes." He whispers.

Greg gently cups his jaw and peppers his face in light tender kisses.

Mycroft sighs softly and chases Greg's lips with his own as the other man ghosts across the corner of his mouth.

Greg kisses his lips, pouring all his love and affection into it.

Mycroft sighs happily, ignoring their surroundings.

Greg pulls back just a bit, pressing their foreheads together.

Mycroft chuckles. "Thank you..."

“Anytime, My.” Greg smiles.

The hour and a half went by rather quickly, thanks to their distracting each other. As they walk up the gangway hand in hand, Mycroft raises Greg's hand to kiss the back of it again. "*Bienvenue à Paris, ma chérie.*" (“Welcome to Paris, my love,”)

“Merci de m'avoir reçu, mon amour.” Greg smirks, surprising Mycroft with his language skills. (“Thank you for having me, my love.”)

Mycroft raises his eyebrows and smiles in pleasure. "You speak French very well. I'm assuming from visiting relatives in your younger years?" He asks.

“My mother’s mother.” Greg smiles and nods.

Mycroft already knew this of course, thanks to his files, but he merely smiled. Stopping at the luggage carousel, he saw both their cases and garment bags. Reaching for them, placing them on the luggage trolley, he smiled again. "Our driver is over there." He murmured.

“Sounds good.” Greg smiles and pushes the trolley out to the car.

The driver, a young woman, held a sign that read "Holmes & Lestrade". She smiled as they approached. "*Bonsoir, messieurs. Je m'appelle Juliette. Je serai votre chauffeur pour la soirée. Puis-je prendre vos bagages?*" (“Good evening sirs. My name is Juliette. I'll be your driver for the evening. Can i take your luggage?”)  
Mycroft nods. "*Bonsoir Juliette. Je vous remercie. Je m'appelle Mycroft Holmes et voici mon partenaire, Gregory Lestrade.*" (“Good evening Juliette. Thank you. My name is Mycroft Holmes and this is my partner, Gregory Lestrade.”)

“*Bonsoir.*” Greg smiles, helping her out the luggage in the trunk. (“Good evening.”)

Juliette smiles winningly. "English?" She asks. "It is very nice to meet you." She opened the limousine door for them. "I am taking you to Secret de Paris, yes?" At the affirmation, she smiles, nods and gets in the driver's seat.  
Mycroft sits back and tries to relax, rather excited by his night with Greg.

Greg smiles, taking Mycroft’s hand in his. He was a little nervous and very excited. This was a huge step for them, going away together and having so much one on one time.

Juliette drives them to the hotel, put the bags on a porter's trolley and smiles as Mycroft gives her a generous tip. She hands him her card. "If you need a Chauffeur, sirs. Please consider my services." She tips her hat and drives away.  
Mycroft takes Greg's hand and leads him to the front desk, signing in.  
Once up in their room, Mycroft leaned against the closed door, watching Greg, biting his lip.

“Time for that chat?” Greg smiles and sits on the bed.

Mycroft nods slowly. "Yes, I suppose you're correct." He smiles softly, walking over to sit with him.

Greg sits facing Mycroft. “So you want to have sex with me and I want to have sex with you.” He smiles.

Mycroft's mouth goes dry and he nods. "Yes..." He murmurs softly.

“When you say sex I want to know the specifics of what you mean.” Greg takes his hand gently.

Mycroft swallows past the lump in his throat. "I..." He took a breath. "I want you... T-to penetrate me..." He blushed beet red.

“Okay.” Greg nods. “Have you ever had anal sex before?”

Mycroft gives the barest of nods. "Yes... Many years ago." He admitted. "University. He was domineering... And... None too gentle." He swallowed. "The... Same man who told me I was damaged goods. I... Want to know what it's like with someone who... Cares."

“Well I want you to know that he was an idiot who doesn’t know his arse from a whole in the ground.” Greg kisses his knuckles. “We’ll go slow. Very very slow. Full penetration doesn’t even have to happen the first time. We can just see how you like fingers.”

Mycroft swallows hard and nods. "Yes, all right." He whispers.

“Okay. There’s no rush. We have all weekend and longer.” Greg assures him. “How about we have a nightcap and kiss for a while and see how we feel?”

Mycroft sighs softly and nods, getting up and moving to the minibar, undoing the top button of his shirt. He looked over at Greg. "What would you like?"

“I’ll have whatever you’re having.” Greg nods.

Mycroft takes the two small bottles of scotch and empties them into glasses with ice. He brings them over and sits next to Greg again, handing one glass to him. He takes a breath, and looks at him. "I want this, Gregory." He whispers. "I don't want Reginald to continually have a hold over my life when I haven't seen or heard from him in over twenty years."

“Then we’ll change it. We’ll make sex good for you. We’ll make it enjoyable.” Greg nods, sipping from the glass. “I like sex. I like to make my partner feel good. I don’t like sex when my partner isn’t into it. I like enthusiastic consent and communication.”

Mycroft nods in agreement. "I agree." He murmurs. "I want to enjoy sex... If you're open to helping me..."

“As long as it takes.” Greg smiles softly.

Mycroft smiles. "Thank you, Gregory...," He says, sincerely.

“My pleasure, love.” Greg smiles softly.

Mycroft sips from the sweating glass. He felt a warm tingle in his chest every time Greg called him a pet name.

“I think you should direct things. You tell me what to do and how you want me to touch you.” Greg sips his drink.

Mycroft bites his lip, thinking. "I liked what we did in the shower..." He murmurs. "Can... We do that again?" He hesitates. "Without pants?"

“I’d like that.” Greg smiles and nods. “It was hot. You were hot.”

He flushes scarlet and feels his cock twitch in interest. "You were lovely, too..." He said after a moment.

Greg smiles softly and finishes his drink. “I’ll start the shower. No rush.”

Mycroft nods, sipping his drink slowly to calm his nerves, and to bolster his courage. After a minute or two, he swallows decisively, takes off his shoes and socks and belt, before heading to the bathroom to join Greg there.

Greg has the shower running, he’s stripped down to his pants and undershirt.

Mycroft bites his lip and undoes the buttons on his shirt, unrolling the sleeves from the elbow, taking the garment off. Letting it fall to the floor, he undid the trousers, letting them pool around his ankles before stepping out of them. Standing there in his vest and pants, he let out a breath and looked at Greg.

Greg watches him, a smile on his face. “Tell me how you’re feeling.”

"Nervous... But ... In a good way." He murmured.

Greg nods. “Come kiss me?”

Mycroft nods, biting his lip and walking into the large shower, tentatively pressing his lips to Greg's. His cock twitched inside his pants and he exhales through his nose with a weak laugh.

Greg kisses Mycroft back. “Someone is excited.” He chuckles softly.

Mycroft's cheeks redden slightly, but he manages a chuckle. "Excited because of you." He murmurs.

“You’re so handsome, My.” Greg kisses his forehead.

Mycroft let's a smile, a true smile, blossom over his face. Biting his lip, he runs a hand through Greg's hair. "As are you, Gregory..." He murmurs, kissing him again.

Greg slowly wraps his arms around Mycroft’s waist, gently holding the other man close as they kiss.

Mycroft moans softly into the kiss as their cocks rub against each other, separated by a wall of fabric.

Greg gently deepens the kiss, gently sliding his tongue against Mycroft’s.

Mycroft sighs into the kiss, running one hand from Greg's shoulder to the waistband of his pants.

“You can touch me. Anyway you like.” Greg mumbles against his lips.

Mycroft hesitates for only a second, before trailing his hand down to gently squeeze Greg's arse.

Greg moans softly. “Yeah just like that.”

Mycroft grins wickedly and squeezes again, harder this time.

Greg groans, his hips rocking against Mycroft’s.

"Ah!" A zing of pleasure pulses through him as they rub together. Mycroft takes a deep breath and dips his hand beneath the waistband of Greg's pants, slowly stroking the man to full hardness.

“Oh My.” Greg moans, his head making a *thunk* sound as it rests against the shower wall gently.

Mycroft watches him with hooded eyes, feeling powerful in a way that he'd never felt. *He* was doing this to Greg. *He* was making Greg groan like that. He swallows and smiles, rubbing a thumb gently over the head. "Gregory..." He whispers.

“Fuck yes, My.” Greg pants, his cock leaking.

"Yes, Gregory?" He whispers softly.

“You touch me so good.” He drags his nose against Mycroft’s.

Mycroft kisses him lightly. "Touch me, Gregory?" He asks, emboldened by Greg's admission. "Want to feel you..."

Greg rubs Mycroft over his pants

Mycroft whined shamelessly. "Gregory..."

“So hard for me, love.” Greg kisses his neck as he rubs.

Mycroft whimpers again. “I... I want yours hands on me, Gregory…” He breathes. “Properly...”

Greg nods. “I’m going to put my hand inside your pants, okay?”

Mycroft nods, practically panting.

Greg slips his hand into Mycroft’s pants, gently pressing his palm to Mycroft’s cock.

Mycroft inhales sharply. "Gregory!" He gasps, hips snapping forward.

Greg smiles, wrapping his hand around Mycroft’s cock and stroking him gently.

Mycroft moans softly, rocking his hips into the circle of Greg's fist.

“Good, love. Just like that. Gorgeous. You feel so good in my hand.” Greg showers Mycroft with praise.

Mycroft whimpers. "Gregory..." His pupils are dilated and he presses his mouth to Greg's.

Greg kisses him back. “I’m here. I’m right here.” He mumbles against his lips. “Do you want to cum or should I stop?”

"St- stop." Mycroft stammers. "T- take me to bed? Please, Gregory?"

Greg nods and gently lets Mycroft’s cock go, taking his hand back. “Let’s go to bed, love.”

Mycroft hisses at the loss of Greg's hand and reaches over to turn off the water. Taking one of the hotel towels, he bites his lip.

“It’s okay. This is good.” Greg smiles softly and gently takes the towel from Mycroft, gently drying him off gently.

Mycroft winces as the rough towel rubs over his aching erection. Having discarded his pants and vest, he felt naked and exposed in front of Greg.

Greg gently fastens the towel around Mycroft’s waist so he can have some privacy. “Check in. How are you feeling?”

Mycroft takes stock of himself. His chest was heaving and his erection painfully hard. He nods quietly. "Good..." He murmurs, hoarsely.

“Okay. Do you want to take a break or continue?” Greg asks softly.

Mycroft takes a deep breath. "Continue. I've shied away for far too long..."

“We’ll go slow.” Greg smiles softly. “Kiss me?”

Mycroft gives a tiny smile and leans forward to kiss the detective slowly.

Greg kisses him back gently. He smiles and kisses the tip of his nose.

Mycroft smiles. "Gregory..." He whispers.

“Yes, love?” Greg smiles.

"Please..." He murmured. "Take me to bed... Touch me... M-make... Love to me?"

“Yes, My.” Greg smiles softly and takes his hand, leading him to bed.

Mycroft follows quietly, whetting his lips with the tip of his tongue.

“How would you like to do this?” Greg smiles.

Mycroft shrugs lightly. "Facing you?" He asked.

Greg nods. “Perfect. Would you like to finger yourself or me?”

Mycroft flushes. "I..." He hadn't considered it.

“We don’t have to do penetrative sex tonight. There are plenty of different options. You could even fuck me if you wanted to.” Greg chuckles softly.

Mycroft blinks. "You... Would like that?" He asks.

Greg nods. “Yeah I would.”

Mycroft takes a breath. "I would like to..." He murmured.

“Do you want to fuck me, love?” Greg smiles softly.

Mycroft swallows. "Yes, I...I do." He breathed. "But... I.... you'll have to.... help me. I..." God, why was this so hard? "I... I've never..."

“Okay okay.” Greg nods. “How about I lay back on the bed and open myself up while you watch?”

Mycroft nods, feeling a little better. "O...okay..."

Greg nods and pulls the covers down. He gets lube out of his bag and condoms before taking off his pants. He lays back on the bed and gets comfortable. “Still okay?” He asks Mycroft.

"M...mhm..." Mycroft watches, fascinated. He'd always been the receiving party, and had never been privy to anything like this, even when he'd wanted to. His sex life had been very... stunted... in that way.

“Come sit next to me?” Greg asks, pouring some lube on his fingers.

Mycroft tentatively sat on the bed next to Greg and his eyes flicked from the man's face, to his fingers, to his gorgeous cock, and back to his face.

“You can touch me and kiss me.” Greg smiles at him, rubbing slick fingers against his own arsehole.

Mycroft is tentative as he reaches to trail long pianist-like fingers down Greg's neck, shoulder, ribcage, as he leans in to kiss him slowly.

Greg kisses him back, working a finger into himself. “Tell me if this gets too much for you.”

Mycroft nods, but he is absolutely fascinated, watching Greg's fingers disappear into himself. "You're beautiful, Gregory..."

Greg blushes and smiles. “Do you want to try? Putting your fingers inside me?”

Mycroft inhales. "I... I.... yes." He bites his lip. "You'd be willing to let me?"

Greg smiles and nods. “I’d love it.”

Mycroft reaches down and haltingly uses the tip of his index finger to trace light patterns against Greg's perineum, applying the slightest pressure.

Greg gasps softly and nods encouragingly, handing Mycroft the lube.

Mycroft nods and pulls away to coat his fingers with the slippery substance. Capping the lid, he gingerly replaced his hand and slowly, s l o w l y pushed his finger into Greg's entrance, gasping slightly at the tight warmth that encompassed his finger.

“Oh My.” Greg moans softly.

Mycroft watches in amazement. "You.... like this?"

Greg licks his lips and nods. “My boyfriend has his finger inside me and it feels good. I like it a lot.”

Mycroft flushes, his chest, neck and face reddening. Emboldened, he presses a second finger against Greg. "I... love the way you feel around my fingers."

“Can you imagine your cock inside me?” Greg moans, keeping his hips still even though he wants to fuck himself on Mycroft’s fingers.

Mycroft whimpers at the thought of Greg's tight heat squeezing his hot and hard erection. He bites his lip against the sounds issuing forth from his throat. "Gregory..." He whines, softly. "Please...."

“How about I finish opening myself and you get a condom on? It’ll help you last longer and not get so overwhelmed first thing.” Greg suggests.

Mycroft swallows hard and nods. "Okay." He murmurs, temporarily devoid of his usual intelligent speech. He picks up the box of condoms and tears one off the roll, opening the foil packaging and rolling the prophylactic onto his aching shaft.

“Good. Now I want you to close your eyes and take a few deep breaths. Nice and relaxing.” Greg smiles softly, pumping three fingers into themselves.

Mycroft follows his orders, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, in through his nose, out through his mouth.

“Check in?” Greg asks.

"I'm all right...." Mycroft murmurs, after a moment. "I've never been the giving party." He tries not to let shame colour his face. "I want to... I ... really want to..."

“I know you do, love.” Greg smiles softly. “All you have to do is remember to go slow and breathe.”

Mycroft gives a small smile. "Just guide me on how to do this, Gregory..." He mumbles.

“I can stay on my back or I can ride you?” Greg offers.

Mycroft considers for only a moment and nods. "Please... ride me?"

“Okay.” Greg nods and pulls his fingers out of himself. “I’m going to be honest and tell you that I usually don’t last very long when I’m being penetrated.” He chuckles softly.

Mycroft smiles softly. "Well, I don't know how long I'll last, doing the penetrating." He murmurs, softly. "Maybe we'll be in similar situations."

“Good.” Greg chuckles softly. “Kiss me?”

Mycroft lay on his back and leaned up to kiss the man deeply.

Greg kisses him back and straddles his hips.

Mycroft looks up at him, his eyes still full of a mixture of wonder, and of disbelief. "Gregory..."

“I’m right here, love. I’ve got you.” Greg kisses his forehead.

Mycroft nods, pressing into the kiss. "I love you, Gregory..." He murmurs.

“I love you, too. So much.” Greg kisses his jaw. “I’m gonna start lowering myself onto your cock, okay?”

Mycroft's breath hitches and he nods, slowly. "Yes, all right..." He murmurs, his hands gripping reflexively at Greg's forearms.

“You can tell me to stop and get off at any time, right?” Greg gently wraps his hand around Mycroft’s cock.

Mycroft whimpers and nods, but resolutely tells himself that was not going to happen.

Greg holds Mycroft’s cock and slowly starts to lower himself onto it.

Mycroft watches him, absolutely fascinated. "Gregory..." He murmurs, the word turning into a needy whine as the tight heat envelopes him.

“Close your eyes and breathe, My.” Greg stills.

Mycroft forces his eyes closed and leans back against the pillows, breathing slowly.

“There you go. Just like that.” Greg says softly, keeping still.

Mycroft forces the whimpers to subdue in his throat. "Gregory..." He murmurs.

“You’re okay. I’m right here.” Greg takes his hand in his free hand.

Mycroft grasps his hand. "Please..." He murmurs. "Let me feel you..."

Greg nods and slowly slides the rest of the way down his cock, seated in his lap.

Mycroft groans loudly as his cock is enveloped in tight heat. "G-g-GREGORY-Y-Y..."

Greg moans, his cock hard and leaking. “I’m gonna start moving okay?”

"Mmm...HMM..." Mycroft hums, trying not to let the feeling overwhelm him.

“Breathe, love. Just breathe.”

Mycroft gasped in a breath. "Gregoryyyyyy...."

“You’re okay. Look at me, love.”

Mycroft forces his eyes open and looks up at Greg. "G-gregory..."

“Breathe with me, love.” Greg breathes nice and slowly.

Mycroft forces himself to breathe with Greg, though he can't help the moans that escape his throat.

“There you go.” Greg smiles down at him. “Doing okay?”

Mycroft stops, before nodding his head. "So tight.... so hot, Gregory..."

“I know. It’s a lot. Do you want me to get off?”

Mycroft shakes his head severely. "No... No!" He grunts, digging his fingers into Greg's hips. "Please, Gregory... please..."

“Okay. Okay.” Greg leans in and kisses him. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

"Gregoryyyyy...." He whines. "God, Gregory, you feel so good..." He almost sobs with pleasure. "Greg.... so good... oh, GOD, so good."

Greg chuckles softly, rocking his hips slowly.

Mycroft wrenches his eyes open again, unaware that they had closed, and looks up at his lover with a heated gaze.

“Like that?” Greg rides him slowly.

Mycroft whines in response, bucking his hips into Greg. "FUCK! GREGORYYYYY!"

“Ohfuckyes!” Greg moans as Mycroft thrusts up into him.

Mycroft groans, thrusting up again into the older man. God, it felt so good.

“Just like that, love. Give it to me. You feel so good, My. So deep.” Greg pants as he rides him.

Mycroft unconsciously grips Greg's hips, dragging him down in response to his hips thrusting upwards. "Greg-oryYYY!" He grunts, over and over. "Fuck, darling.... YES!"

“Fuck you’re a natural.” Greg moans, fucking himself on Mycroft’s cock as Mycroft fucks him.

Mycroft whines again, feeling his orgasm brewing, sending sparks shooting up and down his spine as his thighs begin to ache with pressure and pleasure. He watches Greg, biting his lip.

“Let go. I’m right here. I’ll follow you.” Greg nods and his cock leaks heavily, he can feel Mycroft getting harder inside him.

Mycroft bit back a scream as he was given permission to let go, pumping his hips erratically into Greg. He whimpered as the aftershocks subsided.

“Myc... Mycroft... Come on... Come back to me, love.” Greg says softly. He was sitting next to Mycroft. He’d cleaned them both off and pulled the covers up around Mycroft. “Hey.. there you are. Thought you blacked out.” He smiles softly and smoothes Mycroft’s hair back.

Mycroft heaved a breath, looking wildly at Greg. "G-gregory?" He mumbled. "Wh-what...?"

“Everything’s okay. I think you might have blacked out a bit when you orgasmed.” Greg soothes.

Mycroft can't help but let a whimper escape from between his lips. Reg had never allowed him to lose control, and conditioned as he was, he tensed himself for the verbal and physical beat down he was sure he would receive.

“You were breathtaking.” Greg says softly.

Mycroft hesitated. "I... I was?" He whispered, unsure.

“My, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced in my entire life.” Greg nods enthusiastically.

Mycroft swallowed harshly, somewhat unwilling to believe him. "Really?" He whispers. "Truly? Honestly, Gregory... please, don't just placate me..."

“Love, I came so hard watching you my cum hit my face.” Greg blushes and chuckles a bit embarrassed.

Mycroft flushed bright red, burying his face in the pillow. "I'm sorry..." He mumbled, softly.

“My love, there is nothing at all you should feel sorry for. That was fucking amazing. You are gorgeous. Honestly the best sex I’ve had in my entire life.” Greg lays down next to him.

Mycroft tried not to let his emotions overtake him, and he looked up at Greg with prickling eyes. "D.... do you promise?" He whispers hoarsely.

“Cross my heart, hope to die.” Greg nods, opening his arms for Mycroft to cuddle with him if he wants.

Mycroft waits a beat and then cuddles into Greg's embrace, not sure how to feel.

Greg cuddles him close and kisses his head. “Check in?” He asks softly.

Mycroft is silent for a long time. "Reg..." He mumbled. "Reg never let me give... only receive." He took a deep breath, schooling his thoughts. "He used me... never prepared me, as I watched you do so... he... believed that... if he was ready, his.... partner was ready." He turned his face into Greg's shoulder. "That was... was the best sexual experience that I... I have ever had... in my entire life."

Greg holds him close and gently rubs his back. “I’m sorry that you went through that.” He says softly. “If you never want to be on the receiving end then you never have to be. If you do then we’ll talk about it and work up to that, practice beforehand plenty.”

Mycroft whimpers into Greg's shoulder and nods slowly. "Okay..." His voice is muffled.

“I never want you to be afraid of telling me what you’re thinking and feeling. If anything I want to know every single thought you have. Every feeling you feel. We are partners. Equals. You are my boyfriend and I am yours.” Greg kisses his head.

Mycroft lets his emotions overwhelm him and he tries not to sob into Greg's shoulder. "Sorry," He hiccoughs. "I'm so sorry, Gregory..."

“Let it go, My. You’ve been holding all of this in for far too long. You are safe and loved here. I’m not going anywhere unless you are by my side.” Greg promises.

Myc feels a weight shift in him at the permission granted, and he sobs into Greg's body, huddling close to the man who had freed him from twenty plus years of feeling inadequate.  
After a while, Myc's sobs dissipate into hiccups and sniffles and he rests against Greg's arm. "I'm sorry..." he says again. "I'll... understand if you don't want to be with me... I'm... so broken. Beyond repair."

“You are not broken. You were hurt by someone who should have valued your trust and affection above all else but didn’t because they were a selfish narcissistic bastard who only indulged in their own pleasure at your detriment. That wasn’t a partner or a boyfriend. That was an abuser. Every malicious thing he said to you was a lie. You are not broken. You are not lacking in anything. You are not deficient. You are amazing and wonderful and gorgeous and smart and perfect. You are the love of my life.” Greg blushes brightly as that last bit slips out. He didn’t want to overwhelm Mycroft and now he’s let that slip.

Mycroft sniffles, looking up at the detective. "Gregory..." He murmurs, softly. "Are you sure I'm not.... damaged goods?" He hated the saying, but he needed confirmation. "Do you mean it?"  
It would take time, but after twenty plus years, he was willing to try and school his beliefs, if Greg was happy to accommodate him.

“I’ve never been more sure if anything else in my life. I will tell you every single day multiple times a day that you are not broken. He tried his damndest to break you but here you are in my arms opening yourself back up to me. No one truly broken could ever do that. You are so much stronger than you will ever know. I’m here. I’ll always be here. I won’t leave you unless you order me away.” Greg assures him.

Mycroft chewed his lips, possibly drawing blood, though he could not taste it. "I... I love you, Gregory..." He said, testing the waters.

“I love you, Mycroft.” Greg says softly.

Mycroft felt the walls of his belief shift again. It would take a while, but for now he was happy to wallow in those four words Greg had uttered.

“I think maybe we should get some food and water into you.” Greg says softly.

Mycroft huffed, petulantly, but nodded, leaning back against the pillows. "All right..."

“I’ll hand feed you.” Greg chuckles softly and reaches over for the room service menu.

Mycroft smiles slightly. "I... I'm not an invalid, Gregory." He murmurs, though he is stifled by the thought of Greg hand feeding him, despite his ability to feed himself. He swallows. "I can.... care for myself,"

“I know you can. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” Greg says softly. “I was just trying to make eating sound more enticing if you weren’t feeling up to it.” He kisses his knuckles. “I just like taking care of you.”

Mycroft hesitates again. He's not used to this sort of care. "Thank you..." He murmurs, softly. "I.... apologise... it's a new feeling, a new sensation for me.... to be cared for." He chuckles derisively. "Almost everything about this is new..."

“It’s okay. We have time. Plenty of time.” Greg smiles softly and opens the menu. “What would you like?”

Mycroft leans against Greg's shoulder. Usually, he'd go for something high class, but his temperament isn't feeling it. "The chicken, cheese and tomato sandwich sounds divine..." He murmurs. "With an orange juice..." He adds, almost as an afterthought.

Greg kisses his head. “Sounds good.” He picks up the phone, dialing down to the front desk.

"*C'est un service de chambre, comment puis-je vous aider?*" The voice on the other end of the phone asked, demurely. (“It's room service, how can I help you?”)

“*Bonjour, j'aimerais commander deux sandwichs au poulet, au fromage et à la tomate. Du jus d'orange, une bouteille de champagne et des fraises au chocolat. Oh aussi une grosse part de gâteau au chocolat.*” Greg orders. (“Hello, I would like to order two chicken, cheese and tomato sandwiches. Orange juice, a bottle of champagne and chocolate strawberries. Oh also a big slice of chocolate cake.”)

"*Oui, bien sûr, monsieur. Votre numéro de chambre? Nous allons recevoir votre commande sous peu.*" The operator says, relaying the order to the kitchen. Mycroft raises his brows.  
"Gregory, I don't need so many calories... I'm far over my limit as it is..." He murmurs, blushing. (“Yes, of course, sir. Your room number? We will receive your order shortly.”)

Greg gives the room number and says his thanks before hanging up. “My, one, calories don’t count on vacation. And two, sex burns lots and lots of calories. Ergo you can eat whatever you like. If you don’t wanna eat the extras you don’t have to. I will.” He shrugs.

Mycroft smiles shyly. "I'm sorry." He murmurs softly, for what seems the umpteenth time. "Would you believe bad habits?" He murmured, after a pause.

“No reason to apologize.” Greg assures again. “I would if you want me to.” He says softly but he’s a good detective, he knows more than he says.

Mycroft gave a small smile and ducked his head, looking toward the windows, thinking to himself. Thinking back to their conversation before, he looked up at Greg. "I... I would like to be... penetrated... by.... by someone who would take care of me." He mumbled, half embarrassed. "I've... never come while being penetrated. I.... thought that maybe I could change that this weekend." He's flushed hot. "Would you help me, Gregory? Later?"

“I would be honored.” Greg smiles at him adoringly.

Mycroft's smile dazzled. "Thank you, my love..." He murmured.

“Kisses. I require kisses.” Greg puckers his lips comedically.

Mycroft laughs quietly, pressing his lips to Greg's, pouring all of his love and affection into the embrace.

Greg hums softly and kisses Mycroft back. “Mm and just so you know you have an exquisite cock..” He mumbles against his lips.

Mycroft blushes beet red, again, unaccustomed to such complements. "Gregory!" He whispers, smiling.

“I’m completely serious!” Greg grins. “It’s long and gorgeous, just like you. Didn’t even have to touch myself to come.” He nuzzles him. “I hope you also know that by the time this weekend is over I would like to have kissed every square inch of your body if you’re amiable.”

Mycroft inhales sharply. He smiles, despite himself. "I do believe that can be arranged." He murmurs, softly.

“Very good. Let’s see.” Greg looks him over. “Ah I would like to start right here.” He points to a freckle on Mycroft’s shoulder.

Mycroft had always been self conscious of his skin blemishes, and Reginald hadn't helped his personal views, often criticising him, calling him ugly and worthless. He thrust the memories away as hard as he could. It wasn't as far as he would have liked, but still out of Reginald's shadow. "Oh?" He asks, bravely.

“Mmhmm. I remember once a while ago you’d just come back from god knows where but you’d gotten some sun and I could see freckles peeking out just under the collar of your shirt. I wanted to know what they tasted like.” Greg smiles softly.

He blushed. "That would have been six months and two weeks ago..." He mumbled, almost like a computer. "When I had come back from legwork in Iraq." He blushed again. "Not much more to say..." He knew not to admit to his duties, though slight details were allowed.

He chuckles softly. “Yeah that sounds right.” He nods. “You don’t have to tell me about your work. I mean you can if you want to but I know most if not all of it is wayyyyyyyyy above my pay grade.” He snorts. “I just enjoy the time we get to have together. Every moment is special to me and I want to make sure you’re as happy as possible with me.”

Mycroft appreciated the admission. "I don't need to tell you about my work. I fear you've figured out more than you really should have." He chuckled softly, as a knock rapped at the suite door. He stuttered slightly, but steeled himself against recognition, not it'd happen, but it was still something to consider. He cringed, slightly, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I’ll get it.” Greg kisses Mycroft’s forehead and gets up, slipping on a fluffy white robe before leaving the bedroom to go to the door. Soon he returns with a cart and pushes it over to the bed.

Mycroft is still trying not to cringe. "Sorry..." He whispers.

Greg frowns a bit. “For what, love?”

Mycroft takes a breath. "Reg..." He paused. "Reginald ... he always bullied me for my tension... I thought it was teasing, at first... because of my ... stature...? ... I didn't know how to.... react, if people recognised my profile from a photograph, no matter how rare the occurrence was."

“You do work that requires you to be on high alert a lot of the time. Being tense means being ready for whatever comes. It’s a very hard gear to come out of even though we’re on a little holiday. I don’t begrudge you for that. Is there anything I can do to help?” Greg asks, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Mycroft hums, softly, trying to keep his partner happy. "I... I'm all right..." He murmurs, softly. "Though... I do... " He looks embarrassed.

“Mm?” Greg asks softly.

Mycroft exhales. "I do appreciate your fingers.... combing through my hair." He mumbled, self-consciously.

Greg’s grins lights up his face. “I can do that.” He nods happily, always wanting to be able to help his partner.

Mycroft chuckles, softly. "Good... you may have been warned... I can be high maintenance like that." He teases, softly. "I don't allow just *anyones* fingers in my hair.”

Greg nods seriously. “Yes, Sir. I take my mission very seriously.” He teases, smiling. He scoots up against the headboard. “How about you cuddle up here to me and I’ll run my fingers through your hair while you eat?”

Mycroft considers for a moment, and nods. "I'm amenable..." He murmurs, happily.

“Get your sandwich and come here.” Greg smiles, the cart right next to them.

Mycroft does as he's told, picking up the plate with his sandwich. He settles against the pillows and eats, almost in a trance as Greg's fingers drag through his ruffled hair.

Greg smiles softly, his fingers running through Mycroft’s hair. He loved Mycroft’s red hair, almost as much as he loved his freckles.

Mycroft all but purrs with the feel of hands in his hair. His sandwich finished, his eyes flutter closed.

Greg watches him, gently taking the empty plate and setting it back on the cart.

"Gregory..." He murmurs, somewhat sleepily. "Stay... stay with me..." and he falls asleep.

“Always, my love.” Greg kisses his head. He watches him sleep for a bit before gently getting up. He eats his sandwich and puts the rest of the order into the fridge before getting back into bed, carefully cuddling Mycroft so he doesn’t wake him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment and let us know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment and let us know what you think!


End file.
